


make you crazy over my touch

by loveleee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (jk definitely), F/M, Summer Sex, beanie kink? sure maybe, inspired by season 3 promos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/pseuds/loveleee
Summary: It’s been ten months, give or take, since they first got together, and in that time she’s seen him again and again without his hat. A privilege, she knows, afforded only to those who have seen Jughead at his most vulnerable: herself, Archie, and his family, she presumes.Meanwhile, she’s never actually worn his hat herself, nor has he ever suggested he’d be comfortable with such a thing. But right now, the urge to do so feels crazily, recklessly overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as the urge to feel his skin – on her, around her, in her – had felt just half an hour ago.Heart thudding, Betty picks up the beanie instead of her shirt, and then places it on her own head, tugging it down to cover the tops of her ears.She turns and rests her chin on her shoulder, leaving her bare back towards him. Lowering her lashes, she bites her lower lip. “How do I look?”





	make you crazy over my touch

**Author's Note:**

> idk guys i just felt like writing some smut!

Rolling onto her side, Betty brushes her nose against Jughead’s bare shoulder, the sheets rustling softly as she moves. “I’m all gross now,” she says matter-of-factly.

Jughead huffs out a laugh. “We were already gross.”

He’s not wrong. They’d spent all afternoon by the river with Archie and Veronica, swimming, snacking, laying in the sun. Betty had slathered on so much sunscreen over the course of the day that she can still smell it now, emanating from her pores.

Not that Jughead seemed to mind. She’d felt his eyes on her all day, a different kind of heat than the sun’s unforgiving rays. In the water they’d sneaked touches when their friends weren’t looking – her hand on his stomach, his fingers trailing up her calf. Betty had pressed her thighs together until she started to sink beneath the current.

On the drive home in Archie’s junky old car, she’d sat on her own hands in the backseat beside him, palms pressed beneath her legs against the sticky leather seats.

They’d barely made it through her front door before his hands were on her, tugging at her tank top, her shorts, the swimsuit underneath. (She’d insisted they make it to her bedroom before their clothes came all the way off, though – her mother may be away at the Farm for days at a time, but Betty would never, _could_ never, do something so intimate in the kitchen where Alice Cooper made peach pies and pot roast, or on the couch where Alice Cooper drank red wine and rolled her eyes at the antics of the Housewives.)

Now they’re laying side by side in her bed, the breeze from the ceiling fan cooling their flushed skin. “We should take a shower,” she tells him.

Jughead makes a groaning sort of noise that she knows is half protest, half desire. “But I like it here.”

Betty smiles, propping herself up on one elbow. “I know.” She traces her finger down the line of his forearm, letting it stop over his pulse point. His skin is surprisingly soft, she thinks, for someone whose life has been one endless rough patch. “You’re staying tonight, right?”

“If you’ll have me.” His mouth curls up at one side in a sort of smirk, and she bends down to kiss it, just a brief peck before she pulls back.

“I’m gonna get some water.” Betty sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed, closing her eyes for a moment as she feels his fingers brush down the length of her spine. She retrieves her shorts from the end of the bed and slips them back on over her hips, then reaches for her tank top where it’s crumpled on the floor. As she does, something catches her eye – Jughead’s crown beanie, lying in a heap next to his discarded t-shirt.

It’s been ten months, give or take, since they first got together, and in that time she’s seen him again and again _without_ his hat. A privilege, she knows, afforded only to those who have seen Jughead at his most vulnerable: herself, Archie, and his family, she presumes.

Meanwhile, she’s never actually worn his hat herself, nor has he ever suggested he’d be comfortable with such a thing. But right now, the urge to do so feels crazily, recklessly overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as the urge to feel his skin – on her, around her, in her – had felt just half an hour ago.

Heart thudding, Betty picks up the beanie instead of her shirt, and then places it on her own head, tugging it down to cover the tops of her ears.

She turns and rests her chin on her shoulder, leaving her bare back towards him. Lowering her lashes, she bites her lower lip. “How do I look?”

Jughead’s eyes leap up to her face, and then instantly move just a fraction higher. For a moment he appears struck dumb. Her stomach drops, uncertain.

And then he’s pulling her down against him, hands skimming up her back, sliding into her hair; his mouth is hot against her lips, her cheeks, her neck. Betty gasps, catching herself on her hands, and then lets herself fall, lying half on top of him, limbs tangled together.

Jughead pulls back, his breathing heavy. “That’s so hot,” he manages.

Betty licks her lips. “Really?”

“ _Yes_ , really.” His shifts slightly and lowers his head, mouthing first at her collarbone, then at her breast. She moans, pushing urgently at the shorts she’d just put back on moments before. ( _What a terrible decision_ , she thinks, her last thought before his teeth graze against her nipple and her mind goes blank with pleasure.)

It’s not long before she’s straddling him, naked again, save the beanie still pulled snug over her temples. When she moves to tug it off – intending to shake her hair out over her shoulders, a move she knows is guaranteed to drive him crazy – he stops her, fingers closing gently around her wrist. His thumb rubs over the base of her palm, and a shiver rolls down her spine.

“Leave it on.”

Betty closes her eyes as she sinks onto him, and she twists her hand so that she’s grasping his wrist instead. She drags his hand down her neck, over her collarbone, her breasts, finally letting go as his fingers press into her hips.

“You like it,” she gasps as he tilts his hips up, hitting her at a new angle, “when I wear this?”  

“I like it.” His voice is low, gravelly, and he starts to thrust faster. “I fucking _love_ it.”

She leans down and kisses him, wet and warm and sloppy. She slips her hand between them and touches herself as they move together, a motion so practiced by now that she feels that fizzling, electric energy coiling inside her within minutes.

“Are you close?” he asks, and she nods; she loves that he asks, that he _knows_ , that he tries so hard to let her go first, every time, even if he doesn’t always succeed.

She shudders when she comes, back bowing, warmth spreading lazy and loose through her limbs. His grip tightens on her hips to the point it’s almost painful and then he follows right after her, body seizing up as he fills her.  

Slumping forward, Betty pushes a lock of hair off of his forehead and brushes her lips against his flushed skin. “I should’ve tried this sooner,” she murmurs, laughing as she lets out a heavy breath.

Jughead eases her off of him gently, reaching across the bed to grab a tissue for her. “God, yeah,” he says, still sounding dazed. “ _Fuck_ , Betty. That was…”

She quirks an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish, but he only shrugs. “I’m not saying I want you to wear it every time, I just…”

“Okay. Beanie kink, noted. Filing away for future reference.” Betty grins, and finally tugs the hat off of her head, dropping it onto her bedside table.

Jughead narrows his eyes. “It’s not a _beanie_ kink. It’s a…you’re-in-my-clothes kink.”

“Mm, I dunno.” Betty stretches languorously, her feet brushing against his calves beneath the sheets. “You’re gonna have to prove that.”

He leans over her, toying with a lock of her hair that’s fallen over her shoulder. “Oh yeah? How?”

“Well, we’ll have to try it while I’m wearing your t-shirt…your suspenders…your leather jacket…”

He kisses her before she can finish the list, but she thinks he gets the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> \- the season 3 clips/photos of them all hanging out at the river are so cute, right!?
> 
> \- and I'm also convinced that the "iconic" Bughead moment we're supposedly getting in 3x01 is Jug putting his beanie on Betty
> 
> \- so, put those two things together...plus me thinking "hey i haven't written anything non-G-rated in a while"...this is the result.
> 
> \- I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, that you'll be so kind as to leave a comment! endless hugs and kisses to anyone who does! ;)
> 
> \- oh and, as per usual, stole my title from some song lyrics by Lorde! love ya girl.


End file.
